


To Seek A Nood-er World

by jehans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Best Friends in Love, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Has One Brain Cell, Dick Pics, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Loving Antagonism, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Refractory Period, Nude Photos, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Steve Has Maybe Half A Brain Cell Tops, Steve Rogers: Tactical Genius, Texting, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: Send noodzSteve has been staring at his phone for the last six minutes, eyes narrowed so much they’re almost closed at this point, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky means. Noodz? What the fuck arenoodz?Listen, Steve is at least marginally aware of modern pop culture. He’s heard ofnudes— not that nudes are exactly a modern invention; artists have been creating them for millennia — and he does know that people tend to misspell words to be cute or funny. They did that when he was young, too. Because time is a flat circle, apparently.But, wait—does that mean…?No. Not possible. Bucky isn’t asking Steve to send him…nudes.Right?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 70
Kudos: 715
Collections: Smut Writing 101: Accidental Dick Pics and Nudes





	To Seek A Nood-er World

**Author's Note:**

> Remember in Infinity War, when they defeated Thanos and no one died, and then Bucky moved back to Brooklyn and lived two blocks from Steve and nothing hurt? This happens after that.
> 
> Big thanks to [Bones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerprintbruises), [Ransom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meemith78), and Bean for betaing, and to [Alpaca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundalpacakitten) for the original prompt!
> 
> Happy birthday, Stevie!

_Send noodz_

Steve has been staring at his phone for the last six minutes, eyes narrowed so much they’re almost closed at this point, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky means. Noodz? What the fuck are _noodz?_

Listen, Steve is at least marginally aware of modern pop culture. He’s heard of _nudes_ — not that nudes are exactly a modern invention; artists have been creating them for millennia — and he does know that people tend to misspell words to be cute or funny. They did that when he was young, too. Because time is a flat circle, apparently.

But, wait—does that mean…?

No. Not possible. Bucky isn’t asking Steve to send him… _nudes_.

Right?

Except…well…maybe he _is?_ Steve can’t deny that they’ve always had this… _intense_ relationship. They’ve always been devoted to each other in a way people started trying to discourage after they each turned fifteen or so. They’d hear it ‘wasn’t normal’ and that they ‘needed to start making new friends,’ but neither of them could ever figure out _why_ they had to do that when they were both so _utterly_ dedicated to one another.

It started getting clearer for Steve that day in Italy when he heard Bucky’s unit had been taken captive and his entire heart clenched. When he said out loud and without missing a beat that he would _walk_ to Austria alone to save Bucky if that’s what it took, and he realized how much he truly meant that. When he found Bucky on that fucking gurney, strapped down and dead-eyed, and Bucky had seen him, said his name, and _smiled_ like there wasn’t poison coursing through his veins, like he hadn’t already been tortured. It was clearer then, but Steve still didn’t understand what it really was until Bucky fell and everything Steve had never realized he wanted was gone.

But the world carried on and Steve couldn’t seem to die, and when Bucky’s face came screaming back into his life, his eyes were dead again. They roused a little on that helicarrier, were alive again but sad on the quinjet in Siberia, and finally felt like home again in Wakanda. But still, things aren’t how Steve _wants_ them to be.

He thinks, sometimes, they’re getting close to something. The way Bucky’s eyes linger on him in a crowded room, like he and Steve are the only ones there. The things Bucky has whispered to him through dark, late nights when neither of them could sleep or stand to be alone, things that would never have a chance to live in the light of day. The fact that Bucky has friends, now, too, could be out there dating like he used to, and he _chooses_ to spend most evenings curled up on Steve’s couch instead. It all feels like _something_.

But what?

Is this maybe Bucky’s way of trying to start something? If so, why would he be cute about it instead of direct?

 _Because Bucky isn’t you_ , Steve chides himself internally. _Steve_ has always been the direct one between them — couldn’t find subtlety if it bit him in the ass, probably. Bucky isn’t like that. He deliberates. He equivocates. He waits. He’s careful with people’s feelings in a way that has never come naturally to Steve. If he’s not sure — if he doesn’t know if Steve _wants_ him — he might mask a genuine request to finally start something more in a joke. Just in case he has to spare Steve the awkwardness of rejecting him.

 _Fuck_.

Okay, Steve thinks, beginning to pace, what are his options here?

One: he could just ask Bucky what he means. He could be direct and just _ask_. But if he does, he’ll be bulldozing over Bucky’s carefully laid cover, if that is, in fact, what this is. He’d be forcing Bucky to tell him outright, when that’s not how Bucky chose to play this. He could hurt Bucky.

Not an option.

Two: he could ignore the request. Just pretend he never saw it, move on with their conversation from before, ask Bucky to come over, and then see if he can try to make a move himself when they’re face to face. The problem with this one is obvious: if Bucky is truly trying to come onto him, and Steve doesn’t respond, it will feel like a rejection. It’s the safe play for _Steve_ , not for Bucky. If he does this, Steve will be actively choosing to potentially cause Bucky very real pain for as long as it takes to clear this up.

No. Not an option.

Three: he could just...do it. Just send Bucky the damn nude, cross the line, bear the brunt of it. He _wants_ to, wants Bucky’s gaze on his naked body anyway; the thought makes him feel hot and buzzy, he could just _do_ this. If he’s misreading the situation, though, that could be devastating. Steve would be humiliated _and_ rejected. Bucky could be made to feel really uncomfortable, might start pulling away from their friendship—

No, though. He wouldn’t, not ever. Steve knows full well that Bucky would _never_ leave him over something like this. That Bucky is _much_ more likely to just laugh about this for the next hundred years — literally, in their case — while Steve turns beet red every time, but ultimately ends up laughing, too, because Bucky wouldn’t be laughing to mock him, but in fondness. No, Bucky wouldn’t care if Steve sent him an unwanted dick pic. Steve could probably even pass it off as an accident if Bucky is clearly not interested.

So, okay. This option has traction because Bucky wouldn’t be hurt by it at all, only Steve. Steve can live with that. This _is_ an option. This is—

Well, look at that, it’s the _only_ option.

 _Goddamnit_.

Steve takes a deep breath. He briefly considers — for one wild moment — asking Sam or Nat about how to do this. He knows he’s _going to_ , now, but he’s not sure… _how_. Does he just…snap a picture of his junk? His full body? Should he be hard? He should probably be hard, right?

 _“Oh hey, best friend, do you think I could ask you a purely hypothetical question about taking naked pictures of myself?”_ Steve imagines himself saying to either Sam or Nat and shivers bodily at the thought.

Yeah, no. Not gonna happen.

Well, Bucky is allegedly asking for _nudes_ , not a _dick pic_ , right? The latter sounds more like the stereotypical and confounding photo of just your junk, the former sounds more…full-bodied at least. Artistic even, maybe.

Actually…Steve can _do_ artistic.

When Bucky’s phone finally dings a solid half hour after the last time he heard from Steve, he’s already settled into his bed, in his pajamas, getting ready to tie his hair up and tuck into the ramen he ordered from the place down the street. Best part of the future, Bucky maintains. Food delivery.

Not much in the world can make him pause in his consumption of sustenance — his crummy serum made his metabolism _insane_ in a way Steve’s doesn’t even show, at least not like Bucky’s, meaning he has to eat constantly and sleep a _lot_ in order to maintain a pleasant demeanor — but the one thing that _could_ distract him is Steve. Even just the promise of a one-word text from Steve is enough to have Bucky turning toward his phone, which is lying screen-down on the comforter next to him, and away from his almost-unpacked food.

He’s _incredibly_ pathetic, but at least he’s aware of that fact.

Bucky swipes his thumb across the phone screen, forever grateful that Shuri’s design makes this possible with his vibranium arm, as Alpine, his all-white cat and human baby, takes advantage of his distraction to jump up on the bed and sniff at his take-out. He’s fully expecting to see some dumb reply to the stupid message he’d sent Steve before he ordered food.

 _I’m hungry_ , the first message had said. Followed by a second: _Send noodz_. Like noodles, get it?

Okay, it was a _deeply_ stupid joke, Bucky knows, but he was giggling about it for almost ten minutes after he sent it, and Steve is pretty much the only person in the known universe who Bucky is okay with exposing to the stupider side of his sense of humor, so Steve has to deal. Should be used to it by now, anyway.

But then Bucky opens the message he just received from Steve.

And immediately drops his phone into his lap, choking on his own spit.

What—? _What?!_

It’s—well, it’s a picture. A picture of Steve. A picture of Steve in…in the all together, his, uh, his birthday suit, his—his state of nature, au naturel, he’s starkers, he’s…he’s a jaybird….

Bucky has to remind himself to breathe because apparently he hasn’t been since he opened this picture of Steve — Steve, _his_ Steve — just sitting there, completely bared. For Bucky.

For _Bucky?_

After Bucky’s heart has started up again, he takes a closer look at the picture. It’s—it’s _nice_. Well framed, the light is natural and pretty, falling dappled over Steve’s fair skin, and Steve is—well, he’s beautiful.

That’s no surprise. He’s always beautiful.

He’s sitting in the green velvet armchair in his living room — the one Bucky likes to curl up in like a cat when he’s not sharing the sofa with Steve — knees spread wide, one arm draped over the back of the chair, that hand disappearing into his hair as he casually rests his head against it, the other arm slung across the armrest. The camera is at a low angle, probably level with his knees, and his cock is dead center and prominent; full, thick, _hard_. It’s long and pink, the head of it peeking softly out of the foreskin, and it lies curved over the meat of one of Steve’s luscious, muscled thighs. Thighs Bucky wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into. He’s getting so _ridiculously_ aroused, almost fully hard himself, just looking at those thighs, that gorgeous cock, Steve’s insane tits—but strangely, those aren’t even what draws his attention the most.

No, what _really_ draws Bucky’s attention — and this is even _more_ deeply pathetic, Bucky knows, but — what makes his breath stick in his throat are Steve’s eyes. Trained deliberately on the camera as though looking directly at Bucky, directly into his heart, arresting him with their focus; clear and dark and full of intention. Full of _want_. Bucky can’t be imagining that, right?

His own eyes finally glance down below the picture, to the caption Steve sent along with it.

 _Your turn, Buck_.

Bucky swallows roughly. His cock twitches.

But then—oh. Oh no!

 _The_ ‘ _noodz!’_ Bucky’s dumb, terrible joke, oh _no!_

Steve didn’t get the joke, he didn’t realize— Bucky scrolls up to look and his heart stops again.

_Message failed to send._

Only one of those messages sent. Steve never got the one where Bucky proclaimed his hunger. He only got the _ridiculous ‘noodz’ one, fuck!_

 _See,_ this _is why Shuri always tells you you only have one brain cell, you beardy blanched almond,_ Bucky lambastes himself as he tears the covers off and leaps out of bed.

By the time Bucky has arrived at Steve’s apartment — still in his pajamas with shoes and a jacket thrown on over them, his hair a windblown mess around his face — he’s worked himself up almost into a panic. He’s _such an idiot_ , how did he manage to screw this up so badly? He’s loved Steve since before he can remember, before he even knew what it meant. He _learned_ how to love someone through loving Steve.

Steve has always been his rock, _always_ been there for him. Even when Bucky was a murderer who didn’t know who Steve was, Steve was there for him. He’s been there through Bucky’s entire recovery, been there to help when Bucky gets frustrated with things he can’t remember, to soothe when the nightmares hit or when Bucky can’t sleep because his mind won’t stop racing with invasive thoughts. Even, once, been there to cuddle Bucky into submission when Bucky was too hysterical and almost hurt himself rampaging around in grief.

Steve means too much to him. And now he’s accidentally pushed Steve into something Steve doesn’t even _want_.

He needs to make this right. _Now_.

Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s been pounding relentlessly on Steve’s door since he got here until Steve opens it, wrapped only in a thin robe, looking alert and concerned. When he sees Bucky standing there, his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, the rest of his expression lighting up in an achingly sweet way. But then he takes stock of Bucky’s pajamas, the look on his face, and the way he’s wringing his hands together, flesh and metal alike, and Steve’s eyebrows lower and push together instead.

“Buck?” he asks, stepping aside so Bucky can come in. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky is about to start spewing apologies and confessions and _fuck, Steve, I am so fucking sorry, I never meant for this to happen, I should have told you how I feel, but I didn’t ever want to push you into anything—_

But then, suddenly, Bucky’s one brain cell comes back online, whirring slowly to life like the early computers he vaguely remembers from his Winter Soldier days, and he stops.

Wait.

“Shit,” Steve is saying, a look of contrition etched into his beautiful fucking face, “Buck—was the picture too much? Is it not what you wanted? I wasn’t sure—”

Bucky cuts him off. “You…you _actually_ sent me nudes,” he says as his brain cell does its best to parse out what’s actually going on here. It is working alone, after all.

Steve just looks at him like he’s surprised Bucky is surprised.

“Well, just the one,” he points out guiltily. “I hope that was okay.”

Bucky blinks, braincell whirring. “You wanted me to send one back,” he realizes.

Steve pauses, confused. “Yeah,” he agrees, “that’s why I said—”

“You—you _want...?_ ” Bucky trails off. He can’t finish the question. But Steve finishes it for him.

“You?” Steve asks, his eyebrows shooting up again, like he can’t believe Bucky is asking him this, and Bucky nods weakly. “ _Yes!_ ” Steve breathes, so fucking emphatically. “Yes, of _course_ I want— _mlph!_ ”

He’s abruptly cut off by Bucky’s mouth crashing into his. The moment Steve said yes, Bucky couldn’t help it, he _rushed_ to him, crossing the few feet between them in his most determined of strides and slamming into him. His hands find Steve’s face as Steve’s fist in his jacket, and _god_ , kissing Steve is _amazing_. Their mouths find rhythm with each other so quickly, it’s almost like they’ve been doing this the whole time. They _should_ have been doing this the whole time. Steve kisses Bucky just as hard as Bucky kisses Steve, just as frantic, just as _desperate_ , and _oh fuck_ he really did mean it, Steve really did send him that picture because he _wanted_ to, because he _wanted_ Bucky— _wants_ Bucky, present tense and all, _Jesus fucking Christ_.

Steve kisses Bucky like he wants to devour him, and _oh_ , Bucky wants that, too. He kisses like he’s wanted this nearly as long as Bucky has. Is that even possible?

After a frenzied minute of need and desperation, the kisses slow and gentle, until their parted lips are hovering, just barely touching, and their eyes open together.

Bucky takes a moment to take stock of their bodies. He has his natural elbow hooked over Steve’s bicep, that hand clinging to Steve’s broad shoulder. His vibranium hand is tangled in Steve’s short hair. Steve’s arms are both tight around Bucky’s waist, one of his hands pressed into the middle of Bucky’s back, the other squeezing his ass.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, and somehow it’s both a promise and a prayer.

Slowly — so slowly — Steve releases his hold to skim his hands up Bucky’s abdomen and chest. He reaches up and pushes Bucky’s jacket off of his shoulders, ducking in to kiss his lips again as he does. Bucky shrugs off the jacket and toes out of his shoes, only breaking the kiss so he can shed his shirt, too, lifting it up over his head and dropping it on the ground. Steve is immediately all over him, lavishing Bucky’s bare torso with touches and kisses while Bucky’s tries and fails to push at Steve’s robe.

Then Steve straightens, taking Bucky’s face in both of his hands and looking deeply into his eyes before gently pressing their lips together again. Bucky thinks he might be actually, physically melting now.

“I want this,” Steve breathes, letting his hands slide down Bucky’s neck, down his chest, his stomach, to his hips. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of Bucky’s pajama pants and pauses there. “Do you want this?”

Bucky’s mouth is dry. His heart is pounding. He nods.

“Yes,” he rasps. “Fuck, Stevie— _yes_ , I want this. I _want_ you.”

That is, apparently, all Steve needs. He slams his mouth against Bucky’s again, grabbing him by the arms and turning them both. And then suddenly Steve shoves, and Bucky is falling back, landing in that same damn armchair from the picture Steve sent him. He looks up at Steve in wonder and pure fucking arousal, just in time to watch Steve shuck his robe off and drop it to the floor.

And oh _boy_. If Bucky thought Steve was beautiful in that picture, he had _no_ idea what he was in for, seeing Steve naked in person. He’s absolutely _gorgeous_. Muscular and defined and so fucking hard; thick and leaking. Bucky wants to get his mouth on that. He wants to taste, to partake.

He doesn’t have a chance, though, because almost as soon as Steve is naked, he drops down to his knees in front of Bucky, yanking at Bucky’s pajama pants so enthusiastically they actually rip on their way off of his hips and thighs. Bucky likes these pajamas and would normally protest their destruction, but the moment Steve has tossed them aside, he splays his big hands out over Bucky’s bare thighs and whistles, low and appreciative, raking his eyes over Bucky in a way that would absolutely fatten his cock out if Bucky weren’t achingly hard already.

Steve’s eyes travel slowly up to meet Bucky’s and he smiles, heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, looking at Bucky like he’s some kind of work of art and not a scarred and broken man, helplessly in love with his best friend. “Buck, you’re _stunning_.”

And then he leans forward, taking Bucky’s cock in his hand — and Bucky jerks at the touch like he’s been struck by lightning — and bends over to touch his tongue to Bucky’s slit.

Bucky watches, mouth dropped open, as Steve’s lips — lips he’s fantasized about for the better part of a century — drag all the way down his shaft until hitting his pubic bone all in one smooth go. _Fuck_. This is gonna be embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth is warm, the velvet of the armchair soft against Bucky’s ass, tickling at his balls. He wants to thrust up into Steve’s mouth, but Steve is holding his hips down, and his tongue will not stop moving. His eyelashes are stupidly long, resting on his cheekbones as his cheeks hollow out around Bucky’s cock. Bucky tries like hell to gasp in enough oxygen not to pass right the fuck out, but then Steve _hums_ and _swallows_ around his cock, and Bucky lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a sob, and he’s coming in his best friend’s perfect fucking mouth.

Steve makes a show of swallowing again, of wiping his mouth with the back on his hand. And then he smiles smugly up at Bucky, and even though Bucky _wants_ to retort with something smart to wipe that dumb look off of Steve’s face, in this moment, he actually feels like he might cry instead. Maybe Steve can see that on his face, because Steve pushes up to his feet, leaning over the armchair, and over Bucky, and delicately kisses his mouth.

When Steve pulls back to search Bucky’s face, so open and tender, just making sure Bucky is okay after literally swallowing his cum, Bucky’s expression breaks open.

“Do you have _any_ idea,” he whispers, reaching up to pull Steve back down by the back of his neck, “how long I’ve wanted you, Stevie?”

And remarkably, Steve shakes his head. How can he not know?

“I don’t,” Steve breathes back, brushing Bucky’s hair aside to rest his hand against the crook of Bucky’s neck. “How long, sweetheart?” he asks as he strokes his thumb over Bucky’s jawline, pressing just hard enough to match the edge in his voice. “Tell me.”

Bucky wets his lips, the hint of a command in Steve’s tone putting him even more on edge in the best way. His cock is still hard, his refractory period nonexistent after whatever serum Hydra pumped him full of all those years ago, and Steve’s bossiness has always been something Bucky has very secretly enjoyed, but now. _This_. It’s fucking intoxicating. Bucky could get drunk off of the way Steve’s thumb digs into his jaw.

“Bucky,” Steve says, sharp, snapping Bucky back into the moment and making his lips part with a hissing inhale. “Tell me how long, honey.”

“Always,” Bucky sighs, obeying, and it comes like a relief. “Always, Stevie. Since before I can remember.”

Steve’s eyes widen and his pupils blow out huge. Like he wasn’t expecting that. Somehow he hasn’t realized that Bucky has always followed him around like he’s the goddamn sun. And he is, Steve is the sun, is far more precious to Bucky than any celestial body ever could be.

Steve stares down at Bucky like he’s realizing all of this for the first time, though Bucky can’t understand how he hasn’t known this all along. After a minute, Steve wets his lips, too.

“I wanna fuck you,” he confesses, his voice low and rough, and Bucky is nodding before he’s even done speaking, basking in the way Steve’s lips and tongue and teeth form the words.

“Yes,” he soughs, just as rough, and he doesn’t say anything else because Steve is kissing him again, hard and biting. He stands when Steve yanks him up, out of the armchair, follows as Steve walks backward, pulling him toward his bedroom without removing his tongue from Bucky’s mouth. Bucky gives himself over to Steve entirely, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled and thrown around like a rag doll because he’s so completely and utterly trusting of Steve, he can’t bring himself to do anything else but hand over all control.

Just like Bucky has absolutely no control over the debauched sound that leaves his throat when Steve spins him around and slams him against the wall outside his bedroom to kiss him fiercely. Like Steve can’t help it — doesn’t have the patience even to walk the next half-dozen steps into the room, has to defile Bucky right here, right now, up against this wall. He slots a knee between Bucky’s thighs and grinds his cock into Bucky’s hip and the only time he pulls his mouth from Bucky’s lips is to lick a stripe down Bucky’s throat and bite down hard.

And Bucky knows full well his response to that is _loud_ , but he can’t help it. He has no control. And for once, he _likes_ that.

This is nothing like every other time Bucky has felt out of control. He’s not being forced into this, he’s not being threatened, he has absolutely no fear of punishment or of pain. No, this time he’s making a decision, choosing to give over to someone he trusts. Someone he loves. Someone who would never hurt him, not ever. Who will take charge, relieving Bucky of the need to think, to plan, to monitor himself at all. Every minute of every day, Bucky is so aware of everything inside his head and everything surrounding him, always vigilant, always in control. But here, now, Steve is giving him the chance to let go. To _feel,_ and not to think. To trust, and not to worry. Here, he is Steve’s and nothing else. One equal temper of heroic hearts.

Steve takes hold of Bucky’s wrists and lifts them up over his head, pinning them against the wall as he kisses Bucky so deeply, so _completely_ , that Bucky thinks his soul may very well just leave his body. Vaguely, he hopes it’ll stay long enough for Steve to fuck him before his corporeal form ceases to exist and he floats away to another plane. Steve’s hands glide down his arms again as Bucky leaves his hanging above his head, and then Steve takes Bucky’s jaw in one of those big hands and tilts his head with just the right amount of force to be noticeable, trailing commanding kisses over Bucky’s face and down his neck.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Buck?” he asks mournfully, nosing at the softness just below Bucky’s jaw. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Bucky gasps raggedly as Steve’s teeth scrape over his pulse point, and then immediately regrets it when he feels Steve’s smug smile pressed against his skin.

“Honestly, Steve,” he gets out brokenly, his voice almost a rasp with how much he _wants_ , “I was _really_ obvious about it when we were teenagers, and— _ah!_ —you never said anything, so—”

“What?” Steve snaps, lifting his head to frown into Bucky’s heavily-lidded eyes. “You were not obvious. I saw nothing obvious.”

“It was _frightening_ ,” Bucky tells him, thankful that a hint of something snarky comes out in his tone, “given that I could have gotten us both arrested.”

Steve frowns deeply, perturbed and petulant. “Well, then—” he grits out stiltedly. “Maybe I’m just _really_ stupid.”

Bucky can’t help the fond grin that stretches over his face. He lets his hands come down to card them both tenderly through Steve’s hair and says, “No arguments there, pal.”

“Hey!” Steve cries, trying to sound offended. But it’s completely undercut by the way his face is softening into something pleased and blissful at Bucky’s fingers in his hair.

“I mean your _ma_ noticed,” Bucky strikes the fatal blow, then hisses another gasp when Steve viciously pinches his side.

“Okay,” Steve retorts, “first of all, fuck you. Secondly,” he adds as his hands start skimming up and down Bucky’s body, his chest, his abdomen, his hips, holy fuck his _thighs_ , “we _cannot_ be talking about my _mother_ right now, because you’re _naked_ and _sexy_ and I’m _hard_ , but you are going to have to explain _that_ later, and also fuck you for bringing her up right now.”

Bucky laughs, and it comes out breathy and broken from the way Steve’s hands are _everywhere_. “Doll,” he purrs, letting his head tip back into the wall, “you are more than welcome to fuck me for _any_ reason.”

And that _does something_ to Steve, because Steve lets out this predatory _growl_ and bites down on Bucky’s neck again, his cock twitching and grinding hard into Bucky’s thigh. And then Steve’s arms are looped all the way around him again, squeezing them both together as Steve’s open mouth presses against his, and then Steve pulls him off of the wall and spins them both, backing Bucky towards his bedroom door.

Bucky loses track of things as Steve starts petting him all over again, it seems, because before his mental map tells him they’ve arrived, Steve ducks down for half a second to scoop his hands behind Bucky’s knees and _throw him_ onto his bed, hungrily climbing up over him and laughing at Bucky’s wide, shocked eyes before he presses down to kiss him stupid again.

And Bucky would protest this very undignified event, but the thing is…he’s _super_ aroused by it. Steve just…he just picked him right up and _threw_ him in one smooth action. Bucky is _heavy_ and no one has been able to _throw_ him since he gained a heavy metal appendage (well, that’s not entirely true, Steve has absolutely thrown him since the metal appendage, but those were _combat_ situations, not _sexy_ situations), and holy _hell_ does Bucky like it.

And Steve seems to just…know that. It’s like he was made for Bucky all along, Bucky thinks absurdly. Like they were already each other’s and they just…didn’t realize.

 _Fuck_. What a thought.

A thought that’s not exactly driven from Bucky’s mind, but he is at least somewhat distracted from when Steve’s hands loop behind his knees again to fold him in half, and Steve rocks down against him, the hard length of his cock sliding against Bucky’s hole, making both of them gasp.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Steve is saying now, breathless and desperate, as he reaches out toward his nightstand, “I know your serum’s a little wonky, but I can’t catch or transmit anything, so it’s up to you if you wanna use a condom, but—”

“I’m good,” Bucky cuts him off impatiently. “Stevie, you said you were gonna _fuck me_ ,” he whines and Steve shoots him a grin as he rifles through his drawer.

“Needy,” he admonishes fondly, and Bucky’s face lights up in a blush that might have been embarrassment except he’s _so into Steve being bossy right now_. Steve’s smile softens and he strokes Bucky’s cheek gently as he coos, “Patience, honey. I swear I’ll take good care of you.”

And the promise in that— Bucky is _drunk_ on that.

Steve goes back to rifling until he finds what he’s looking for and returns with a half-empty bottle of lube.

“Do you want to stay like this?” he asks, indicating their position as he pops open the cap on the lube with his thumb. Bucky is on his back, his knees bent, feet on the bed, and Steve is lying on top of him, stretched between his thighs. It’s a damn nice position. “Or do you want to roll over?” Steve continues, making quick work of spreading the lube all over his fingers in a way that sends a shiver of anticipation through Bucky’s skin, raising goosebumps all over his very naked body.

“Well,” Bucky rasps, trying to make a point of sounding pragmatic because Steve is an _asshole_ who is _way_ more composed than he ought to be, here, “both do have their merits.”

Steve laughs, bright, and Bucky loves him. He’s overwhelmed with it, how much he loves this man. How much he’s always loved him. Through pain and grief and joy and distance, through longing and suffering and years of forgetting, Bucky loved Steve all along. He loved him when he thought he was dead and gone, disappeared into the sea, and he loved him when he didn’t even know his own name, and he loved him and loved him and _loves_ him, and Steve is here. Steve is _his_. Much has been taken from Bucky, but much abides. _This_ abides. Against all odds, against time and fate and death, this _still_ abides.

Bucky can’t help it — he pulls Steve down and kisses him hard, kissing him true. _This is it_ , he says with his lips on Steve’s lips. _This is it for me_. _You are it for me_.

And maybe Steve understands. Maybe he feels it, too. Because he kisses Bucky back until Bucky can’t _breathe_. Until he’s _dizzy_ with it. And when he lifts his head and gazes down at Bucky’s face, Steve’s eyes are the clearest, purest blue that Bucky has ever seen. Bluer than cornflowers. Bluer than the sky.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, and smiles.

Bucky smiles, too. “Hey,” he echoes. This, right now, is a moment of pure contentment. Bucky has never felt so happy in his life.

And Steve kisses him again, soft this time, and sweet. “You ready?” he asks.

“Yes,” Bucky whispers, sure. He lifts his head to kiss Steve’s red, swollen mouth one more time, and then rolls over inside the bracket of Steve’s strong arms.

Steve makes an appreciative sound as he pulls back, and Bucky glances over his shoulder to see Steve staring at his ass and biting his lower lip and Jesus _Christ_ , he looks like a fucking _porn star_ doing that, Bucky has to turn back around and drop his face to his hands, letting out a high keening sound into his palms.

Steve palms at Bucky’s ass, squeezing and kneading and pawing at him and drawing out something like a sob from Bucky’s mouth.

“God, baby, _look_ at you,” Steve mutters for the second time this evening, almost under his breath, like he doesn’t even mean to say it out loud. “ _Christ_ , Buck. You’re perfect, honey, you’re so fucking _perfect_.”

That’s _ridiculous,_ and Bucky can feel his chest and shoulders flush from the absurdity. But then, all at once, a cool, slick finger is circling his rim and he lets out another sobbing noise and Steve starts making soothing shushing sounds above him.

“Shh, that’s it, honey, that’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re so perfect for me, Buck, you know that? God, honey, you’re so fucking good, I can’t take it. I’m tryna be good, baby, but I _need_ you, I gotta fuck you _now_ , you’re so fucking _good_ , my sweet, darling boy.”

Bucky _groans_ at the praise, his still very hard cock straining between his legs. He wants so badly for Steve to touch him there again, wants so badly for Steve to fill him and fuck him and _take_ him, but he can hardly form words at this point, let alone sentences.

All he manages is a tight, “Fuckin’ do it, then,” before Steve makes a soft desperate noise and slips his finger inside.

It’s like lightning. Like gasping awake. Bucky’s whole body stutters at the sensation of _Steve_ inside him, even just this one finger. He wants _more_ , needs it, needs every quivering inch of Steve. And Steve is talking again, babbling, whispering sweet nonsense that Bucky cherishes like gold.

Steve keeps babbling as he adds a second finger, and then quickly a third, and he’s talking as he’s twisting his wrist and scissoring his fingers inside Bucky, and as he rubs the rough pads of his fingers over Bucky’s prostate once, and twice, and three times, making Bucky roar with it each time.

“Sweet boy,” Steve soughs the third time. “So sweet for me, so _good_ for me, honey. I gotta get inside you, sweetheart, are you ready?”

Bucky nods, gasping, already drooling into the pillow, just _gone_ for it, for _Steve_. Steve scrambles to pull his fingers out and line up with Bucky’s stretched hole, letting the head of his cock just rest there where it’s sensitive for a heart-stopping moment, during which Bucky doesn’t think either of them breathe at all.

And then Steve curses under his breath and finally pushes in, and Bucky feels the slow stretch of Steve’s cock filling him up, making him _whole_ , and he lets out a shattered moan through the stretch of it.

When Steve bottoms out, huge and deep and _perfect_ , he just holds there for a moment, gasping for air. Bucky is glad to know he’s not the only one affected this much — that Steve is feeling the enormity of this moment, too.

Although, Bucky thinks wildly, letting out a small giggle, Bucky is the only one feeling the _other_ enormity of the moment.

Steve leans down over Bucky, plastering himself to his back, and presses until Bucky’s knees give out and he’s lying flat on the bed, Steve stretched out on top of him. And Bucky’s laughter dies in his throat, transfiguring into something gutteral and needy and so fucking honest it’s terrifying. Strong arms loop under his armpits and Steve carefully pulls his legs over Bucky’s one at a time so his knees are braced on the outside of Bucky’s thighs. He pulls one of his arms out from under Bucky for just a moment to brush Bucky’s hair out of the way so he can lay sweet kisses to the nape of his neck, and then, when Bucky turns his head, his cheek. Bucky’s hands find Steve’s under his chest and he laces their fingers together and squeezes.

That’s enough for Steve. He starts to move, pulling out achingly slowly and moaning the entire time. Bucky shivers as he presses back in, feeling every goddamn, perfect inch of him and loving him more than anything else in the world.

“ _Steeeve_ ,” he groans out without even meaning to, and Steve huffs a growl into the curve where his neck joins his shoulder, and then bites down on the muscle there, eliciting a sharp cry from Bucky’s lips. He pulls out quicker this time and then _slams_ back in, and he hits that spot that makes Bucky see stars, makes him gasp and moan and _keen_ with it. Steve’s teeth sink further into the shoulder, and he’s making these feral noises into Bucky’s ear that Bucky wants to swallow and keep inside himself forever.

Steve holds him tight and slams into him again, and then again, and again, and again, and Bucky becomes more concerned about his spirit ascending into the aether before he gets a chance to do this another hundred thousand times with Steve. He wants to do this _so much more_ with Steve, now that they have, now that they _can_. Bucky has never come untouched before, from just being fingered or fucked, but the way Steve is relentlessly railing his prostate, how he would be fucking Bucky up into the headboard if his weight wasn’t so solidly holding Bucky down where he lies, and how the sheets are providing just enough friction to his already orgasm-sensitive cock, he’s getting so fucking close.

And then Steve laves his tongue against Bucky’s skin where he’s still biting down on him and then _sucks_ , intentionally making a mark even though he knows Bucky’s body won’t hold it long, and Bucky comes with a high, gasping cry, spasming against the sheets, under Steve’s heavy hold. And Steve keeps fucking him through it, keeps fucking him when he’s spent and oversensitive and _writhing_ , and doesn’t stop fucking him until his hips stutter and he buries himself deep and comes inside Bucky, jerking and shaking with it.

Steve’s cum is leaking out around his cock by the time he slumps over Bucky, relaxing his entire two hundred and fifty pounds on top of him. Bucky sucks in a shaky breath and Steve lays lazy kisses all over his neck and face.

“Honey?” Steve slurs, shifting his hips a little so his still-hard cock moves inside Bucky again, and Bucky _hisses_. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky mumbles back, and oh, he’s definitely slurring, too. “Yeah, ‘m good. You good?”

Steve downright _giggles_ against Bucky’s back, licking at the salt of his sweat. “‘M so good, Buck,” he says. “God, ‘m _so_ good.”

Bucky chuckles and squirms, then gasps again when that makes Steve’s dick hit his prostate again. Then Steve does it again on purpose and he yelps.

“God, you’re _mean_ ,” Bucky whines and Steve laughs because he’s cruel and does it again. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“Are you complaining?” Steve asks, _cruel_.

“Yes, I’m complaining,” Bucky argues even though Steve’s still buried to the hilt inside him and he sounds _absolutely wrecked_. “Can you hear me? I’m complaining.”

“Hm,” Steve hums thoughtfully, grinding his hips in a circle which is _very unfair_. “I don’t actually hear that. Weird.” And then he _fucking does it again_.

“ _Fuck_ , okay,” Bucky admits, panting, because unlike Steve, he knows when to take a loss. “I’m not complaining, just don’t fucking _stop_.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, Buck,” Steve tells him, his self-satisfied smirk audible in his voice, and picks up speed.

It isn’t until Steve has pumped three more loads into Bucky in various positions, including one where Bucky was pressed up against a wall, and Bucky has smugly made Steve come a fifth time with just his face buried in Steve’s ass and one hand loosely holding his cock, Steve’s cum dripping tantalizingly out of him and down his balls the whole time, that they finally wear each other out. One of the benefits they’re discovering of being equally-matched super soldiers. The bed is wet in multiple places, but Bucky still collapses into it, the most blissful and beautiful and absolutely fucking _wrecked_ sight that Steve has ever laid eyes on.

Steve settles in next to him, drinking in the picture of Bucky — _his_ Bucky, of _course_ his, always his — lying in his bed, naked and spent, glistening with sweat, stated and satisfied. Happy.

So fucking happy.

Bucky turns his head and blesses Steve with a rare, wide smile, crinkling eyes and everything. He rolls on his side and reaches out with his right hand to brush his thumb against the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Hey, you,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve _beams_.

“Hey, you,” he echoes back.

Bucky just regards him thoughtfully for a few moments, truly content. He brushes his thumb over Steve’s laughter lines and the crease that doesn’t really disappear anymore from between his eyebrows.

“‘You and I are old,’” he whispers, almost like he’s whispering just to himself. Steve quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask out loud what he means. And Bucky doesn’t answer, just follows it up with a soft, “Never too late to seek a newer world, huh, pal?”

Steve smiles, still a little lost, but something in him seems to understand. The phrase is familiar, but he can’t place it. Bucky can tell him later, whenever he feels like it. For now, Steve is delighted just to lie here and be softly touched by the man he deeply, unrelentingly loves, in quiet contentment for as long as it lasts.

It doesn’t last long.

Because Bucky suddenly snorts, and when Steve gives him another quizzical look, he laughs,“I can’t _believe_ this finally happened because I wanted some _noodles_.”

Which— That doesn’t make any sense. Steve frowns up at Bucky. What do _noodles_ have to do with—oh _no!_

Steve feels his entire face get hot and red as he suddenly buries his face in the pillows with a sharp, “ _Oh my god!_ ”

Meanwhile, Bucky, who is _mean_ , just laughs at him. This is awful, this is _humiliating_ , this is _way worse than any of Steve’s scenarios!_

“Hey—Stevie, stop it!” Bucky shouts, still laughing loudly and actually _kicking_ Steve while he’s down, the fucking asshole.

But Steve doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, just keens into the pillow he’s suffocating himself with. “I sent you a _nude_ …when you wanted _noodles?!_ ” he screeches, which just makes Bucky laugh even harder.

“Hey, fuck off!” Bucky protests, and kicks him again. “I _loved_ it, babydoll,” he says. “I—I love you.”

And _that_ gets Steve to take his face out of the pillow and look up at Bucky again, expression open wide at the confession.

Bucky shrugs shyly with one shoulder. His cheeks are tinged pink and his eyes are sparkling blue and he looks fucking _happy_. “It got us here, didn’t it?”

“I love you, too, Buck,” Steve says right away, his heart fluttering faster than it has since before the serum. Bucky gasps softly, his eyes widen.

“You do?”

“Yes,” Steve presses before Bucky has even finished asking. He will _not_ let Bucky doubt this. Not this. “Yes, Bucky, of _course_. Of course I love you, how could I not?”

What Steve doesn’t expect is for Bucky’s wide eyes to suddenly well with tears as he falls forward to crash into Steve’s kiss. And he _really_ doesn’t expect to follow suit until they’re both crying and laughing in equal measure into a wet and sloppy kiss that Steve treasures.

When Bucky leans back, it’s only to flop down into the bed again, and he pulls at Steve until Steve wraps both arms around him, solid and firm and _safe_. He rolls over, pressing his back to Steve’s chest, and hums a contented sigh.

Steve presses kisses upon kisses into every single inch of Bucky he can reach.

“Stay over?” he asks, half sure Bucky is already falling asleep. “I’ll cook you breakfast.”

But Bucky turns over his shoulder — not enough to dislodge the incredibly needy spooning they’re engaging in, but just enough to squint at Steve — and asks, low, “That a threat?”

Steve laughs. “And I’ll fuck your brains out again,” he adds.

Bucky’s expression softens. “Promise?”

“Mhm,” Steve confirms, kissing Bucky’s face now that half of it is within his reach. “So you’ll stay?”

“Mm,” Bucky grunts indecisively as he turns and settles back down. “Alpine.”

“Did you give her dinner already?”

“Yeah, but she needs breakfast in the morning.”

“I’ll go feed her,” Steve offers.

Bucky pauses, considering. But: “She likes to sleep in bed with me.”

Steve smiles. “Are you saying you want to go home?” he asks, reaching up to brush Bucky’s long hair away from his face, endeared by the way it catches on his stubble, and Bucky grunts.

“Comfy.”

“Buck,” Steve laughs fondly, “you gotta make up your mind here. Unless you want me to go _get_ Alpine so she can sleep in _my_ bed with you.”

“No, that’s stupid,” Bucky dismisses.

“Okay,” Steve relents, and he’d be frustrated if he hadn’t just orgasmed five times, but he did so he’s not, “then do you want to say here or go home?”

Bucky looks up at his face and there’s something heartbreakingly vulnerable about his expression as he asks, “Will you come home with me?” As though that weren’t a given.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Steve tells him firmly. “That was my plan all along if you didn’t wanna stay here.” He grins. “Call me selfish, but I don’t wanna stop holding you yet.”

Bucky smiles so hard it scrunches his nose, and Steve can’t help but kiss it.

Bucky ends up being no help at all when it comes to trying to get back to his place. Steve has to literally pull him out of bed and help him get dressed in a pair of his own sweats (it’s only fair, since Steve did rip the pants Bucky came here in beyond wearability), then he has to deposit Bucky on his sofa so he can go back into his bedroom and strip his sheets before they leave. And _then_ , Bucky is too sleepy and whiny to _walk_ , so Steve ends up just scooping him up (which results in a fucking _adorable_ little squawk of surprise from his sweet, former-assassin, darling boy) and carrying him bridal-style the two blocks between their apartments, as Bucky giggles like a kid the entire way.

Steve insists on showering, even though Bucky grumbles about it to no end, partly as an excuse to keep holding Bucky up and touching him everywhere. Which, it turns out, stops the grumbling and makes Bucky let out soft little whining moans instead. Steve cleans him out gently and Bucky shivers in his arms and holy fucking _Christ_ , if Steve had the strength to do anything more than what he is currently doing, he’d push Bucky up against the shower wall and have his way with him again right now.

 _Next time_ , Steve thinks with a thrill. They’ll get a next time. And a time after, and on and on ad infinitum if Steve has anything to say about it.

Bucky clings to him as Steve finishes washing them both, kissing him sleepily any time Steve’s mouth is close enough to his. He keeps clinging when Steve turns off the shower and tries to dry them both off, an act which is hampered significantly by the grown-ass man hanging off of his shoulders. Eventually, Steve gives up and just scoops Bucky up again, walking into the bedroom and depositing him onto his own bed. And then climbing in with him with a soft, fondly exasperated laugh when Bucky won’t let go long enough for Steve to walk around to the other side of the bed.

He sighs, so fucking happy, when Bucky nuzzles his face into Steve’s neck, a few damp tendrils of hair tickling at his chin. “I love you, Bucky,” he whispers, half expecting Bucky to be too asleep to hear him already. “I’m gonna love you forever, okay?”

But Bucky is, apparently, still a little bit awake, because he rumbles, his voice muffled by Steve’s skin, “Me too, Stevie. Love you m’whole life.”

And maybe the way they got here was ridiculous, and maybe Steve is really, deeply stupid, but he’s here. They’re here. They _got_ here.

And Steve can’t speak for Bucky, but he’d like to think, as Bucky starts to softly snore into his throat, that this is _much_ better than some dumb _noodles_.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Steve buys Bucky noodles every single day for the rest of their lives, the end.
> 
>   
> Bucky internally and externally quotes "Ulysses" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, which is also where the title of this fic comes from.
> 
> Written for the Smut Writing 101 "accidental dick pic/nude" challenge.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @apblaidd


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